<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>dear soulmate: cast out your light by aalphard</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109524">dear soulmate: cast out your light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aalphard/pseuds/aalphard'>aalphard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, they might be ooc? sorry i tried, yamaguchi is a bookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:34:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aalphard/pseuds/aalphard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Do you ever wonder what they look like?”</p>
  <p>“Do <i>you?"</i> Kei asks, stretching out to grab a cookie. “You said you met them. Do you ever wonder what they’re doing while you’re stuck here with me munching on cookies while surrounded by old, tattered books?”</p>
  <p><i>I don’t need to,</i> he thinks. <i>I know what he’s working as a curator for a museum and that he loves what he’s doing. I know he’s writing a thesis because he’s always babbling about it. I know he likes dinosaurs because he started talking about it one day while showing me a kid’s book I didn’t even know we had here. I know he likes peppermint tea and almond cookies just like I do. I know he comes home from work and stops by to scavenge for old books because he likes their smell and because he doesn’t like reading digital copies. I know he’s not looking for his soulmate and I know I’m not his, no matter how hard I’ve fallen for him.</i></p>
</blockquote>or it just so happened that tadashi’s constellation lit up for someone who didn’t glow for him.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>haikyuu fics that made me smile somehow</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dear soulmate: cast out your light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on this prompt:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“soulmate au where you and your soulmate both have constellations of dark blue freckles that glow when you’re together”</p>
</blockquote>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p><em>you can meet your soulmate anywhere:</em> <em><br/>
at the coffee shop that you've been to almost<br/>
every morning.<br/>
or at the park whilst feeding the pigeons,<br/>
even though you're not meant to.<br/>
or at the library on a weekend,<br/>
whilst searching for a book.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>(<a href="https://hellopoetry.com/poem/615630/soulmate/">by naz on hellopoetry)</a></em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s the first thing they teach you at school – not math, not biology, not physics. They don’t need to, but they do it anyway. They don’t need to because your parents tell you when you’re first learning how to say your name, when you’re first getting on your feet. It’s drummed into you all the time – when you say your first words, when you blink up curiously at them for the first time, when you’re taking your first stumbling steps, holding onto their hands for support. It’s your lullaby, the first thing you hear in the mornings and the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.</p>
<p>Many people kept theirs hidden as if it was their most precious possession. Many people covered theirs with tattoos, not wanting to live with the weight of its glow dragging them down. Many people wore theirs proudly, showing off their beautiful patterns in hopes of finding their destined ones as soon as possible.</p>
<p>He always thought they were beautiful, their patterns unique to you and the one you were destined to, two of a kind in a world of freckly patterns. When combined, he was told, they looked like the world’s most precious work of art. His dad liked to tease him about his pattern, saying it looked like a weird banana-like shape, while his mom just shrugged him off and told him it looked like a book seen from the side. He liked that more than he liked the banana-like shape.</p>
<p>He never hid his pattern, never wanted to, wearing his book-like pattern proudly, even though he still got the banana-like commentary sometimes. Especially at school. He had eight indigo dots in his inner wrist in a book-like shape, he liked to say, and he liked to say it was because the universe already knew he’d grow up to be what people liked to call bookworms. He didn’t mind. He liked it.</p>
<p>Given that, he spent a lot of time at the second-hand bookstore close to his high school, easily making friends with the old lady who owned the place. She was in her seventies and would always have hot tea and almond cookies to share with him as soon as school was over. She told him a lot about the system, about how flawed it was, about how sometimes you got to meet your soulmate after so long only to realize you weren’t theirs, about how heartbreaking that was.</p>
<p><em>Did that happen to you?</em>, he’d ask, eyeing her constellation. It consisted of what once were five indigo dots, now black and seemingly faded, climbing up her neck. She’d giggle and nod, taking deep breaths before answering that <em>Yes, and I still love her dearly even though she never loved me back</em>. She told him about the times where people would wrap thick bandages around their marks in a futile attempt at avoiding love, afraid of the heart-wrenching pain that would come with it. <em>Did you ever do that?</em>, he’d ask. And she’d reply that <em>No, I’m not afraid of the pain. It never stopped hurting but when I remember the way she smiled at me, it gets a little easier.</em></p>
<p>He thought it would hurt, meeting his soulmate. He thought it would be the best and yet worst thing that could ever happen to him – but he never hid his constellation. He never tried to cover it up as if it never existed. He wore it proudly as if it was a part of him he could never lose, soulmate or not. He decided his constellation was a mere indicator of the one thing that was most precious to him, of the one person he could talk to whenever he was in a pinch. Whenever he looked in the mirror, he’d have the reminder of the old lady and their shared passion for books, not of someone he hadn’t even met yet.</p>
<p>But he still waited for the day when his constellation would light up like a glowstick and he’d look up to the most beautiful person in the world. He found himself daydreaming about it sometimes, talking to the old lady about it. She’d giggle whenever he said he wanted to find someone with the same book-like constellation, two of a kind, and they’d trace along each other’s patterns, whispering about nothing in particular. <em>Book quotes?</em>, the old lady had asked him and he shook his head, a soft smile on his face. <em>No</em>, he’d answer. <em>Poems from the heart</em>. And she’d giggle once again, nodding. <em>Those are the best</em>.</p>
<p>She told him not everybody had their constellations in the same spots as their soulmates. He already knew that, he told her, because his dad’s was on his shoulder, while his mom’s was on her chest. <em>I’ve never met someone whose mark was hidden</em>, she told him. <em>Maybe the universe wants us to find each other easily</em>, she told him. And he hoped it was true. He hoped his soulmate would see his on his wrist and show him theirs, on their shoulder or neck or even on their cheek. He didn’t care where it was.</p>
<p>One day she asked him if he’d like to work there and he didn’t even need time to think. She told him how to operate the register, how to clean the old books so they didn’t fall apart and how to make the peppermint tea he enjoyed so much. She didn’t teach him how to bake the almond cookies, though. <em>A gal must keep some of her secrets, don’t ya think?</em>, she’d said. He started working at the second-hand bookstore as soon as he turned eighteen, fresh out of high school. <em>Won’t you go to college?</em>, the old lady asked him and he’d shot her a smile, nodding, and said that <em>Every college student has a part-time job, grandma.</em> He pretended he didn’t see her tearing up as she went to the back to grab him the almond cookies he loved so much.</p>
<p>They’d talk all throughout his shift. <em>There aren’t many people interested in worn-down books</em>, she’d tell him over and over again, <em>but if there’s only one person who appreciates them, that is enough. For they carry a story much better than the ones written inside.</em> She showed him a few of the older books, the ones people didn’t even batch an eye to, filled with love letters and small doodles on their yellow pages. She showed him how sometimes people would pour their hearts out while giving a book to someone else and even so, they’d end up right there, thrown out as if those feelings never mattered in the first place.</p>
<p>There were a few regulars, he noticed, and he liked to create stories around them. One of them had a constellation on his left cheekbone, right beneath his eye. The other had his constellation partially hidden by a scarf, no matter how hot it was. There was a girl whose pattern was on her forehead and she decided to hide it with her hair. <em>Smart move</em>, the old lady had joked with her as the girl chuckled along. <em>I wish I’d hidden mine with hair when I was younger</em>, she’d said. <em>Would’ve spared me so much pain</em>.</p>
<p>Talking to those regulars, he started to think about his own pattern, the way it itched sometimes, the way it burned whenever he thought about hiding it. <em>It’s painful, knowing who they are and losing them right afterwards</em>, the girl had told him while the old lady nodded. <em>But it’s a good kind of pain, sometimes. </em>At that moment, he just stared at them, not really knowing what to say. <em>But sometimes</em>, the old lady had told them while handing the girl her books. <em>It hurts so much it knocks all the oxygen out of your body and you’d rather die than go through that. There’s no way we can win.</em></p>
<p>It was a flawed system, he knew that. But seeing his parents working it out, proudly wearing their glowing constellations, smiling at him whenever he got home, going out to the park on Sundays, muttering sweet words under their breath when they thought he wasn’t there… he thought it might work, sometimes. And sometimes he thought it was a train wreck, hearing their stories about lost loves and the pain of never seeing your constellation glow after that one time. He didn’t know how to feel about his anymore.</p>
<p>One day he decided to ask the guy with the pattern on his cheek if he ever thought about hiding it, if it ever itched to the point where he thought his skin was burning. He just nodded lightly, saying <em>Sometimes I think it’s a curse and that it’ll swallow me whole as if we’re in a fantasy novel</em>. <em>But it was once beautiful, seeing it glowing. I wouldn’t want to erase that</em>. And he had agreed, staring at his own pattern with a soft smile. He decided he wouldn’t hide it, even if it scared him sometimes, the thought of it glowing for someone whose pattern didn’t glow for him. It would be okay, he told himself over and over again, because these people are all the same.</p>
<p>Sometimes the old lady teased him when he got to the bookstore panting, hair sticking to his forehead because of the sweat, only so he could get there on time. Sometimes she’d welcome him with a hug even though he was sticky and smelly, and she’d always say that <em>It doesn’t matter because you’re still you</em>, and although he appreciated the thought, sometimes he’d dread the light touches when he felt so icky. Some other times, she wouldn’t even bat an eye at him, waving her hand up in the air and telling him to get ready for his shift.</p>
<p>Until one day she told him she’d have to step back, the moldy books being bad for her health. She asked him if he’d like to keep the shop, if he’d be able to take care of it on his own. She asked him if he’d be able to bear the weight of the thousands of stories no one else wanted, the weight of knowing such wonderful and yet painful stories. He didn’t even think before saying he’d take it, before gripping her hands and looking her in the eyes, saying he’d never dream of anything else, his constellation itching so much it felt like it was being ripped off. <em>Come here</em>, she told him after closing the shop. <em>But I haven’t even started my shift yet</em>, he tried to protest. She giggled, reaching out to him. <em>I have to teach you how to bake those cookies</em>.</p>
<p>It wasn’t ideal, balancing his studies and the bookstore, but the old lady was still around, paying for expenses and making small talk during his shifts. He managed to graduate, his own constellation unlit, and told his parents he’d be living next to his workplace. That hadn’t been a lie, not exactly, because he did move somewhere closer to the bookstore. She lived on the rundown building next to the bookstore and they had a small apartment for rent. It was small but somewhat comfortable and, most of all, it was cheap.</p>
<p><em>I’ll come and wake you up every single day, boy</em>, she told him as soon as he finished moving the boxes up the stairs. He had smiled at her, nodding enthusiastically. More people seemed to know the bookstore by now and his days were filled with <em>Do you have this book?</em> or <em>Can you recommend me something similar to that one book I read a long time ago?</em> or <em>Can you wrap this up? It’s a gift!</em> and he didn’t mind it one bit. There was more money coming in and more donated books arriving every day. They still took their breaks with peppermint tea and almond cookies and the regulars still came in at their usual times. It was nice and peaceful and he thought he didn’t need his constellation to glow brightly when he already had everything he wanted.</p>
<p>But sometimes he felt it itching, burning even, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the one person in the world who shared his pattern was feeling it too.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>It’s one of those days where everything seems to be dull, colorless, Tadashi thinks while sipping his usual peppermint ginger tea. The sun’s about to go down and he should’ve closed the shop by now, but the words enthralling him couldn’t care less about that. He didn’t even know how long he was there, aimlessly wandering along the labyrinths, the dead ends, the oh-so-surreal paragraphs that seemed to be endless. He allows himself to take a deep breath, turning the page, widening his eyes whenever something major happens, biting his bottom lip in concentration, hands shaking while gripping the mug tightly as if that’s the only thing keeping him from going insane, overbearing the limit between what’s reality and what’s fiction. It’s warm against his skin and it feels nice.</p>
<p>His constellation itches, pleasantly burning, and that’s what brings him back to the real world, staring at the old book as if he can’t quite understand how it managed to sweep him off his feet that easily. How many hours had it been? He had no idea. The gingery aftertaste at the back of his tongue bothers him.</p>
<p><em>I should close the shop</em>, Tadashi thinks to himself. But his eyes keep returning to the open book in front of him, to the spirals of words that managed to make him forget about his surroundings for a few hours. <em>It’s a good thing no one comes this late</em>, he thinks, because it would’ve been embarrassing to be seen like that, snatched out of reality, completely enthralled.</p>
<p>He can hear people talking outside, the sweet rustling of the trees, the gush of wind that starts to come around the evening when winter comes rushing in, the children yelling excitedly about their days at school, the owls chatting on top of the trees. It’s a peaceful existence, Tadashi thinks. His constellation is hidden today, tucked safely under a long-sleeved shirt, under a fluffy and warm jumper, and he tells himself he’s only wearing so many layers because of the cold. He’s not trying to hide his pattern, not at all. He’s never thought about it, not even once. That’s what he tells himself, what he’s trying so desperately to believe, because the itching hasn’t gone away, the burning constantly reminding him that eventually the day will come where someone walks in and turns his world upside down, making his constellation glow unceremoniously as if that was the one thing he should’ve been waiting for. It’s not, he tells himself. Because he doesn’t think his indigo dots were anything other than a public display of the most striking aspect of his personality.</p>
<p>The bell on top of the door chimes as a gust of wind crashes onto him and he shivers unconsciously, squinting at the figure standing in front of him. He’s beautiful, is the first thing that crosses Tadashi’s mind. And he truly is, golden locks and matching eyes. He wears glasses, on top of that, which only makes him look cooler. He wears the typical businessman apparel, dark pants, neatly tucked-in white button-up, black tie and a very weird looking overcoat if Tadashi was being honest.</p>
<p>“Welcome,” he stutters, hiding his hands behind the balcony as if on instinct. “What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“There aren’t many bookshops open this late at night,” the man states, smirking down at him. “I’m looking for this specific book for my thesis. It’s been hell to find it, honestly. Do you have anything on museology, by any chance?”</p>
<p>Tadashi chuckles, nodding. “It’s by the third stack in the back. Would you like me to accompany you, or are you fine on your own?”</p>
<p>“I can manage,” he smiles, his eyes sparkling with something Tadashi doesn’t quite recognize. “But if I need anything, I’ll come back here and drag you along.”</p>
<p>“Sounds good,” Tadashi smiles back, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper.</p>
<p>He turns around and walks away, hands in his pockets, slowly disappearing in between the stacks. Tadashi didn’t even notice he was holding in his breath until his lungs gave out, screaming in agony. His constellation itches a bit more now, and it’s only when he’s sure the man’s gone, out of his sight, that he allows himself to roll up his sleeve, his heart missing a beat, breath hitching and lump in his throat. It’s the most amazing, enthralling and yet terrifying sight Tadashi has ever come to see. It glows, bright and proudly as if mocking him, yelling that <em>He’s here! There’s your soulmate! Fall in love with him! Kiss him! Profess your love, now, now, now! Before he goes away! He’s finally here! Kiss him!</em></p>
<p>Tadashi feels his eyes burning, tears starting to pool up. His stomach is tied in thick knots, a spiky lump in his throat. He hears steps and rolls down his sleeves quickly, taking a deep breath before the golden locks reappear again. He’s smiling proudly, holding up a tattered book, one of those specimens Tadashi has started to label as <em>forgotten relics</em>.</p>
<p>He doesn’t stretch out his hand to take the book. Instead, he allows the man to place it in front of him, on top of the counter, and he feels his hands shaking as he starts to package it. He tries to scan him for any sign of the blue light, any sign that, yes, they’re each other’s destined ones, but there’s nothing. In the bright yellow light of the second-hand bookshop, his pattern is the only one that’s glowing. Tadashi knew that was a possibility – he’s been living with so many people who went through that, has been listening to their stories for so long. It shouldn’t have hurt this much, he thinks. But it does.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he chuckles, nodding. He hands him the package, smiling as best as he can. The money is right next to the scanner and he could’ve gotten it easily if he wasn’t so scared about the possibility that his sleeve would roll up on its own and show him its magnificent glow. “I’m fine. Here’s your book. I hope it helps you!”</p>
<p>“It will,” he nods. “I don’t really have the time now,” he goes on. “But I’ll definitely come around again to look around for more of those. At what time do you open?”</p>
<p>Tadashi has to hold in a scream.</p>
<p>He thinks back to when he was still in high school, talking to the old lady about their patterns. He thinks back to when she was telling him about the pain, about how lingering around them would only make it worse, about how it would destroy someone, bit by bit, until you ended up being someone you didn’t even recognize when you looked in the mirror. Because it’s obvious when it glows up. It’s obvious to you and to them and <em>still</em>, it hurts because it’ll never be more than a reminder that you could’ve had them, that you could’ve been everything they wished for, but you weren’t. Because fate decided you weren’t suited for them even though they were made just for you. <em>This system sucks</em>, he recalled telling her while she nodded, shoving another almond cookie in her mouth. <em>But that’s how it goes, kiddo.</em></p>
<p>“We’re open from 10 to 10, basically,” he chokes out. “Except on Mondays and Sundays. On those days we open at 9.”</p>
<p>“Great,” he nods. “See you, Freckles.”</p>
<p>With that, he turns around and the cold night breeze envelops and takes him away. Tadashi stares at the door for a few seconds, repeating <em>freckles, freckles, freckles</em> over and over and over again until he looks down at his hands, tucked not-so-smoothly under the counter. His face burns. He’s sure he’s hidden it well, beneath layers of clothing and far away from his eyesight. He couldn’t possibly…?</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>It’s only when he’s back at home, fresh out of the shower, staring at himself in the mirror, that he realizes what he meant. <em>Freckles</em>, sure. How else was he supposed to call him? He giggles to his own reflection, nodding lightly. It’s not the first time he’s gotten a nickname, but it’s definitely his favorite one now.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Tadashi has come to know a lot about the golden-haired man from his last three visits to the shop. For one, he’s not a very talkative person. He doesn’t really mind talking but he prefers to be left alone, so Tadashi only interacts with him when he comes up to the balcony and starts to babble something about how great this one author is and how amazingly well his thesis is going because he finally found the book he needed. He doesn’t really understand why he’s talking to <em>him</em> about this, out of all the people he could’ve been talking to who would probably get what he meant when he talked about <em>The Great Exhibition of 1851 </em>or whatever the hell ecomuseums were supposed to be.</p>
<p>Another thing he noticed is that he doesn’t realize how excited he looks when talking about his work, eyes sparkling, lips tugged up slightly. Tadashi thinks it’s cute. It’s a nice break from the monotone talking and uninterested expression he has all the time. It’s nice to see other parts of him he doesn’t think many people have been able to see. It makes something cold pool up in his tummy and it’s not all that bad, he thinks.</p>
<p>“It’s nice to see someone other than us hanging out around at this hour, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“You haven’t been coming in for a few days now, is everything alright?” Tadashi asks with a smile as the raven-haired man sits in front of him, cheeks red, five indigo dots unlit on his left cheek.</p>
<p>“I found her again a few days ago,” he sighs, shaking his head. Tadashi gulps. “And it was so weird, you know? Because I didn’t feel anything. My face was glowing and everyone could see, but I couldn’t care less. Is that what they call getting over someone?”</p>
<p>Tadashi nods with a giggle. “I think so, yeah. Would you like some cookies?”</p>
<p>The man shakes his head, holding up his hand. He gets up and makes his way swiftly to the back, to his usual spot, sitting on the floor and staring at the books. He’s been doing that a lot ever since Tadashi took over the shop, coming in and admiring the stacks for a few hours. Sometimes he takes one of them home. Sometimes he doesn’t. The golden-haired man walks back to the counter and looks at him weirdly, putting the book on top of the counter and looking at Tadashi with arched eyebrows, a dumbfounded expression on his face. <em>Ah</em>, he thinks, <em>another side of him I’ve come to know</em>.</p>
<p>“He’s one of our regulars,” he states while taking off the book’s tag. “He hasn’t been coming for a few days due to some personal reasons. It’s been rough on him. But it’s all good now.”</p>
<p>“This is really some sort of safe haven to some people, isn’t it?” he asks, head tilted to the side. “Last night there was this girl hiding between the stacks. Almost gave me a heart attack.”</p>
<p>Tadashi giggles. “They’ve been around for a very long time, even before I started here. They’re nice people. They know a lot, been through a lot. It’s nice being around them and hearing their stories.”</p>
<p>“You like stories, then,” he states.</p>
<p>“Isn’t it obvious?” he giggles, handing him the package.</p>
<p>“Not really. I know people who worked in bookstores in the past and couldn’t care less about the stories inside them. I know people who never learned how to read and yet are still drawn to them. I know people who find them essential, as if they’re food. You’re one of those people who think of it as food, are you not?”</p>
<p>“I think I am,” he nods, smiling. “That’s the fun of it.”</p>
<p>He smiles, taking the book from Tadashi’s hands. “That’s the spirit.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Tadashi knows he shouldn’t hope, he knows nothing good will come out of this. But he can’t bring himself to stop doing it. Every night, at the exact moment the clock tells him it’s 10PM, the door will open and he’ll walk in slowly, steps echoing through the empty shop and he’ll call out to him in a low tone, <em>Hey, Freckles</em>, and Tadashi will smile at him and ask, once again, <em>What can I do for you?</em> because that’s what they’ve been doing every single day for the past two weeks. He’s only been wearing long-sleeved shirts <em>and</em> jumpers on top, even though sometimes it feels so hot he thinks he’s going to combust.</p>
<p>Every night, as soon as he leaves for the stacks in the back, Tadashi rolls up his sleeves and sighs when he sees it glowing. The old lady and the regulars were right – it <em>is</em> the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and it still pains him to see it. Because he’s been looking for any kind of evidence, every single night, whenever he comes to the balcony to pay for the book he wants to take home with him. He looks at his neck, at his hands, even daring to look a little further down, trying to <em>finally</em> see him glowing back at him. But there’s nothing.</p>
<p><em>He’s mine</em>, he thinks with a low chuckle when he’s sure he won’t hear him, <em>but I’m not his</em>. It shouldn’t have hurt this much, really. It shouldn’t because he’s been with these people for so long he should’ve known he’d be next. He should’ve known. But it <em>hurts</em>. Looking at him hurts, being around him hurts – and even so, he finds himself counting down the seconds to the moment where he’ll push the doors open and smirk down at him, <em>Hey, Freckles</em> escaping his lips. He’s been counting down to the moment where he’ll crouch down on top of the counter and nibble on the cookies Tadashi bakes for them while talking about his thesis, about stuff he doesn’t really understand, but it doesn’t matter.</p>
<p>One day, Tadashi made him laugh. He was excitedly talking about the book he just finished, and in between his sips, he started babbling about it, telling him all about it, and all of a sudden they were both laughing about something stupid he said and Tadashi realized, finally, that he’d been swept off, constellation glowing or not, because there’s no way he wouldn’t have. There’s no way he wouldn’t have fallen for the soft-looking golden locks, the sparkling eyes behind the glasses, the nasty smirk and soft smile, the adorable expression he made whenever he was talking about something he was enthusiastic about. His heart hurt whenever he thought about it and it was unbearable.</p>
<p><em>Shit</em>, he thinks, holding his head in his hands. <em>This is hopeless, isn’t it? This whole thing is going up in flames, it’s fated for self-destruction.</em> He didn’t talk about it to anyone. He didn’t talk to the regulars, didn’t talk to his friends, didn’t talk to the old lady or his parents. This was something he wasn’t willing to share with them, this bittersweetness that made him feel like dying constantly, that made his tea and almond cookies tasteless. He could only taste <em>that</em> and he had started to think, somewhere along the line, that that was going to be all he would ever taste for the rest of his life.</p>
<p>Tadashi knows he shouldn’t hope.</p>
<p>“I have a question,” he blurts out while taking off the book’s tag. He dares to look up and finds himself being stared at by squinted golden eyes, nasty smirk shot at him. “How come you’re coming here every single night to spend money in old, tattered books, when you could’ve easily ordered those online? You could’ve bought digital copies. That would’ve spared you the time to scavenge the shelves for them. So why didn’t you? Why do you keep coming here? It’s certainly not for the books, is it? What? Do you want me to teach you how to bake those cookies?”</p>
<p>He laughs, shaking his head. There’s a funny feeling climbing up Tadashi’s spine and he’s sure he’s going to die when he puts one of his hands on top of his own, looking down at him with a soft smile on his face. <em>Fuck</em>, he thinks. <em>I’ve fallen hard</em>. His heart pounds in his chest and he’s sure he’s lost his sight for a few seconds, blinking rapidly trying to situate himself once again. His chest hurts and he’s sure he’s about to pass out.</p>
<p>“I don’t like reading digital copies and I quite like the smell of old books,” he says, shrugging. Tadashi nods, trying to gulp down the lump in his throat. “And yeah, I quite like the cookies, but I wouldn’t try my hand at them because, well, that’s not what I’m suited for.”</p>
<p>Tadashi nods once again.</p>
<p>He was never awkward around people, not really. As a matter of fact, he was always pretty easy-going, the typical friendly kid. But somehow, right now, his brain is seemingly plugged into the <em>flight-or-fight</em> mode and he doesn’t really know why, but it’s hard to breathe and he’s <em>hot</em> all over even though it’s a cold night outside and he’s sure he’s going to die if he doesn’t take his hands off the counter right now, getting away from his touch in one swift motion. But he doesn’t know <em>how</em> – because he feels warm and comfortable and even though Tadashi wants to scream, roll up his sleeves and ask him, <em>please, get out of my life so I can finally breathe again</em>, he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he doesn’t know how, can’t find the words, can’t find his voice.</p>
<p>His constellation burns and he’s sure he’s burning up along with it.</p>
<p>“Say, Freckles,” he says in a low tone. Tadashi’s knees buckle from under him. “I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself. Nice to meet you, my name’s Kei.”</p>
<p><em>Ah</em>, he thinks. <em>Such a lovely name. So bright.</em></p>
<p>Coming to love someone, Tadashi thinks to himself, is like creating an alter version of yourself with the softest and thinnest skin. If Kei happened to sink his claws in just a tiny bit, it would be enough to tear him up, he thinks. Because Kei’s hand is warm on top of his, comfortable and yet suffocating. Love, he thinks, is a bomb filled with the potential to break down the entire world and make it go up in flames. That, in itself, is already a terrifying thing. He tells himself he’s not scared of it – he’s not scared of Kei’s claws, of the bomb ticking down to the moment where it’ll finally blow up. He’s not scared, he tells himself. But he is. He’s scared to the point where it’s hard to breathe and it’s hard to sleep and he can’t think about anything else. Love is a terrifying thing.</p>
<p>And it’s even worse, he thinks, because they’re not each other’s perfect match. The universe decided Kei would be a nice match for him, but Tadashi wouldn’t be a good match for Kei. These things happened, he tried to remind himself. But it still hurt.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he huffs out, finally, trying his best to smile at him. “I’m Tadashi.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Kei says, all of a sudden, jumping back and taking his hand off of his. “Just a second, I gotta take this.”</p>
<p>Tadashi nods, allowing himself to stumble back until his back hits the wall. He stares at Kei through the bookshop’s glass door, stares at him while he walks back and forth, phone glued to his ear, a subtle smile on his face. <em>It hurts</em>. Tadashi wonders how it must feel like, to see your pattern glow and stare back at someone else’s brightly lit pattern. It must be nice, knowing you’ve found the one in the world for you.</p>
<p>It’s not like he won’t ever be able to be happy.</p>
<p>It’s not like he’ll forever be bound by him.</p>
<p>He’ll find other people like him, people willing to give it a shot with him. Eventually. And even if he doesn’t, he has his books. He’ll find a kid and teach them the same stuff the old lady taught him. He’ll do just that and it’ll be fine. It’ll work out fine, he thinks. And even so, he still thinks he wants him by his side. He still wants to see his pattern glow for him. <em>It hurts. </em></p>
<p>When he walks back, he’s smiling.</p>
<p>“Something good happened?” Tadashi asks, swallowing the lump in his throat, <em>finally</em>. He hands over the books Kei came over to buy and tries his best at a smile.</p>
<p>“Kind of?” he smiles back, taking the bag from him. “My brother just got engaged. Well, kind of. They met at a convenience store and made a fuss about it.”</p>
<p>“Congrats to him, then,” he smiles. “That’s nice…”</p>
<p>Kei nods, still smiling.</p>
<p>“What do you think about soulmates?” he blurts out before even noticing. At Kei’s arched eyebrows, Tadashi waves his hands in front of him in dismissal. “I’m sorry, that was a weird question, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” he chuckles, tilting his head to the side. “I wouldn’t say it’s a priority for me right now. I have a thesis to write and lots to read. And, of course, I have work. Love feels… weird. It’s nice, the soulmate thing, the glowing freckles and all. Well. I’m not exactly looking, if you ask me.”</p>
<p>Tadashi nods. “So you haven’t found yours, then.”</p>
<p>He hates the way his words came out, sounding hopeful and stupid. He hates the way his cheeks burn, the way his whole body starts to shiver when Kei smiles down at him, shaking his head while putting his hands inside his pockets. He hates how <em>utterly hopeless</em> he is when it comes to him. <em>Fuck</em>, he thinks. <em>I’m in love and it hurts</em>.</p>
<p>“I don’t know many people around our age who have, to be honest,” he shrugs.</p>
<p>“I found mine,” he blurts out, covering his mouth right after the words left his mouth.</p>
<p>“Have you?” he smiles. “Are you together now?”</p>
<p>“N-no,” he chuckles, lowering his head. “It’s, uh… a long story? Kind of?”</p>
<p>“I see,” Kei replies before sighing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Freckles.”</p>
<p>Tadashi doesn’t know why, but he prefers it when Kei calls him by his nickname.</p>
<p>It feels special.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you ever wonder what your soulmate might be doing now?”</p>
<p>It’s a stupid question, he knows that. Kei looks at him questioningly, sat across from the counter, smirk in his face, sipping his peppermint tea slowly. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and Tadashi allows himself to munch in a cookie before he opens them once again. And when he does, he chuckles, shaking his head as if that was the stupidest question he’d ever been asked.</p>
<p>“Why would I?” he shrugs.</p>
<p>Tadashi opens his mouth only to close it once again. It <em>is</em> stupid, he thinks. “Do you ever wonder what they look like?”</p>
<p>“Do <em>you?”</em> Kei asks, stretching out to grab a cookie. “You said you met them. Do you ever wonder what they’re doing while you’re stuck here with me munching on cookies while surrounded by old, tattered books?”</p>
<p><em>I don’t need to</em>, he thinks. <em>I know what he’s working as a curator for a museum and that he loves what he’s doing. I know he’s writing a thesis because he’s always babbling about it. I know he likes dinosaurs because he started talking about it one day while showing me a kid’s book I didn’t even know we had here. I know he likes peppermint tea and almond cookies just like I do. I know he comes home from work and stops by to scavenge for old books because he likes their smell and because he doesn’t like reading digital copies. I know he’s not looking for his soulmate and I know I’m not his, no matter how hard I’ve fallen for him. </em></p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he hums. “I figured.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>After that day, Kei started to ask more questions.</p>
<p>One day he came over right as he was closing, barging in unceremoniously as if that’s the one thing Tadashi was there for. He didn’t call him Freckles and didn’t call him by his name. He just blurted out questions and questions about his soulmate, if he ever thought it was going to happen, if he ever felt like it was worth giving it a shot, why he wasn’t in a relationship with them, if he ever missed them.</p>
<p>He blurted out something about thinking it was a horrible system and that he wanted to forget about it. Kei stared at him for a few seconds before nodding and walking out. Tadashi managed to get to his front door before he fell down on his knees and started crying, sobbing and all. The old lady heard him, shushing him lightly while patting his head, stroking his hair, whispering sweet words to him.</p>
<p>“I hate it,” he remembers crying out to her.</p>
<p>“It hurts,” he remembers sobbing, voice choked and weird, while she hummed softly while trying to calm him down in the middle of the hallway.</p>
<p><em>It’s okay</em>, she whispered, <em>it’s okay, you’ll be okay</em>.</p>
<p>The following night, Kei didn’t come to the bookshop.</p>
<p>And he didn’t come for a few days after that.</p>
<p><em>He must’ve found his soulmate</em>.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good for him.</em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He hasn’t seen Kei in a very long time, his constellation unlit and dull. The old lady told him to take some time off, the regulars would understand. She even tried to bribe him with the promise of chocolate chip cookies. He laughed it off and told her he was fine, he told her that if she was able to live with that kind of pain for so many years, he’d find a way to live with it. <em>You’re a tough one to break, young man</em>, she told him. <em>I learned it from the best</em>, is what he said before leaving.</p>
<p>So the bookshop still opened every day.</p>
<p>Tadashi would never admit it, but whenever the bell chimes he looks up expectantly, hoping to find the golden eyes he’s grown to love so much staring down at him. But it’s not him, it’s never him. Sometimes he ended up daydreaming in the middle of the day, being brought back to reality by one of his customers, who would laugh at him at him amusedly, asking him about his pattern and, sometimes, even about its counterpart. He’d laugh it off, saying it wasn’t important.</p>
<p>He’s currently going through the box of donation books, cleaning some of them and piling them up for the tagging process. It’s lonely being all on his own this early in the morning, but it’s comforting at the same time. His sleeves are rolled up all the way to his elbows, his fingertips dusty and sticky. His coffee is long forgotten on the counter, his eyes rolling from side to side, paying attention to every detail in every book. This is what he chose to do, this is where he belongs. His eight indigo dots prove it to him, book-shape like, even if they look burned out now. It’s only fair, he thinks, that even they would give up eventually. Maybe that’s why it burned whenever Kei was around. They were tired from lighting up all the time for someone who would never light up back.</p>
<p>How depressing.</p>
<p>Tadashi feels the burning before they even start glowing again. Quickly, he rolls down his sleeves and tries to even his breathing, one in, one out, trying to calm down his heart, pounding hard against his chest, his lungs screaming in agony, all oxygen punched out of his body. His stomach coils and he feels like there are a thousand butterflies floating inside of him, a funny feeling enveloping his senses. <em>This is the worst</em>, he thinks. Because <em>sure</em>, it feels nice – but he knows it’s not for long. His pattern is glowing and he feels like he could start floating at any second now, but it’ll come to an end and all there’ll be left is pain.</p>
<p>“Hey, Freckles,” he says, simply, and the sound of his voice alone is enough to make shivers run down his spine. He <em>hates</em> it. “Long time no see.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t turn around to look him in the eye, doesn’t turn around to welcome him with a smile and doesn’t ask him what he’s looking for today. Because he doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t care. Or that’s what he tells himself. Because he’s a coward and he’s scared to look him in the eye, he’s scared to welcome him with a smile only to break down crying because <em>fuck</em>, he’s fallen for someone who’ll never fall for him. Tadashi never saw even the slightest faded blue glow coming from him and it <em>hurts</em> and he doesn’t want it anymore.</p>
<p>He doesn’t turn around, eyes focused on the books in front of him. They’re dusty and some of them are ripped at the edges, but he can work with those later. He feels a lump growing in his throat when the floor creaks behind him, when the scent he’s grown to love to much suddenly envelops him and it’s hard to breathe. Everything in his body screams <em>Kei! Kei! He’s here! Finally! Kiss him! Claim him! Look! He’s here again! Go!</em> and he finds himself unable to move.</p>
<p>“Got any new ones that might interest me?” he asks, voice low behind him.</p>
<p>Tadashi shakes his head. “I haven’t actually paid attention to their contents yet. I’m just cleaning them up first. Then comes the repairs and then the tagging. But I’ve already got some of them ready for the tagging if you’d like to take a look at them.”</p>
<p>He hums behind him and Tadashi listens to his footsteps until he stops next to him.</p>
<p>“You don’t look so well,” he states.</p>
<p>
  <em>Yeah, who would’ve guessed?</em>
</p>
<p>“I haven’t been sleeping properly, I think,” Tadashi shrugs. And that’s not far from the truth, because somehow he’s been spending his nights holed up in his room, crying his eyes out from the pain in his chest, from the persistent itching and burning in his wrist. No one told him it would <em>burn</em>. “You haven’t been around much.”</p>
<p>Kei nods.</p>
<p>Tadashi doesn’t inquiry further and Kei doesn’t say anything about it. <em>He must’ve found them</em>, he thinks, and something hot, sludgy and unpleasant starts to pool in his stomach. It stings and it burns and he doesn’t like it one bit. Kei was never his to begin with, was never someone Tadashi expected to have for the rest of his life. His pattern didn’t glow for him. He had no right to be jealous over him. But it was still there, that horrible feeling, hot and slimy, uncomfortably tight.</p>
<p>He tries his best to keep working as if his constellation isn’t trying to burn a hole through his clothes. He tries his best to keep working as if Kei isn’t standing a few centimeters away from him, looking through the donation books with a concentrated expression on his face. He tries his best to keep working as if his heart isn’t literally jumping around in his chest, trying to escape through his mouth.</p>
<p>“This one doesn’t have a cover,” he says, handing it to Tadashi.</p>
<p>In fact, it doesn’t.</p>
<p>He didn’t even notice.</p>
<p>“I think I’m not sleeping well, after all,” he tries to chuckle, the sound coming out weird. “And it’s the middle of the day. What happened to your nightly visits?”</p>
<p>Kei snorts, shaking his head. “Maybe I wanted to see what this place looked like during the day. Or maybe I just wanted to come by after so long. I had stuff I needed to take care of. But I did manage to finish my thesis, thanks to you.”</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p><em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p>So <em>that’s</em> why he wasn’t around.</p>
<p>“I didn’t really do anything, though,” Tadashi smiles at him, pretending his face doesn’t <em>do things</em> to him. “But congrats on finishing it. I bet it was awesome.”</p>
<p>“Eh,” Kei smiles back. “I owe you one.”</p>
<p>“You paid for the books,” he shrugs, returning his attention to the books in front of him. “There’s nothing you owe me anymore. I’m just glad I managed to help.”</p>
<p>It’s true.</p>
<p>To a certain extent.</p>
<p>The part of him that welcomes the jealousy screams at him and tells him to yell at him for coming into his life all of a sudden, for bringing up such a sensitive topic, for making Tadashi fall for him even though he knew his pattern wouldn’t glow for him, even though he knew it wouldn’t work out in the end because Tadashi wouldn’t ever be enough for him. That part of him wanted to scream at Kei and tell him he should pay him back for all the suffering.</p>
<p>But the other part of him, the logical one, just told him to do his best at smiling. It doesn’t matter if he’s sad, if he’s heartbroken, if he’s feeling conflicted by the pain and, at the same time, the warmth that comes with being around him. It doesn’t matter.</p>
<p>Kei isn’t his.</p>
<p>It doesn’t matter.</p>
<p>“I've noticed, you know,” Kei whispers as soon as the bell chimes announcing someone has walked into the shop. Tadashi freezes on the spot, hands suddenly numb, and he lets go of the book he was holding. “I’ll come around in the evening again and we’ll talk.”</p>
<p>Tadashi wants to <em>die</em>.</p>
<p>But as soon as the bell chimes again and he’s sure Kei isn’t in the shop anymore, he takes a deep breath and hides his trembling hands on his back, smiling as best as he can at the group of people who had just walked in.</p>
<p>“Good morning!” he says excitedly. “How can I help you today?”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>If anyone had to use a word to describe Yamaguchi Tadashi, that word would be <em>overthinker.</em> He was a lot of things, sure. He was patient and he was kind. He could spend an entire day talking about his books or hearing someone else talking about something they enjoyed. He was an empath, he liked being around people and he liked being able to help. He loved all kinds of tea, but especially the peppermint tea they had at his bookshop and he also really liked sweets. He wasn’t exactly talkative but he wouldn’t say he’s an introvert by any means. Yamaguchi Tadashi is a lot of things but the one thing he definitely lacks is <em>rationality</em>. Sure, he’s human. And humans are rational beings. But he likes to think he’s driven by the heart rather than the brain – and that’s exactly the problem. Because he wouldn’t be freaking out if he was driven by his brain, he wouldn’t be thinking about every-case-scenario. Instead, he’d be calmly cleaning the shop and looking for something to do while he waited for Kei to come and talk.</p>
<p>Yamaguchi Tadashi isn’t a rational person and <em>right now?</em> He’s freaking out.</p>
<p>He’s got a cup of tea that’s grown cold and a plate of crumbs because he was too anxious to eat them at a normal pace. It’s not 10PM yet, the clock next to the balcony tells him. His heart is pounding, his head is spinning and he swears today is the day he dies. He wouldn’t mind, not at all. He rolls his sleeves up and stares at his pattern, dark and dull, as if it’s mocking him. <em>Seriously</em>, he thinks. <em>What happened to tracing along each other’s patterns and whispering poems from the heart?</em></p>
<p>It hurts.</p>
<p>And when his pattern starts to glow faintly, he knows Kei is coming closer. He knows the bell’s going to chime and Kei will walk in and look him in the eye and start talking about whatever it is. He knows he’ll be heartbroken and Kei will probably disappear from his life but he’s just <em>so happy</em> to see it glowing again, the weird book-like shape in his wrist. He hates the universe for making it so that he’s not Kei’s soulmate and he hates his heart for making him fall for Kei when he already <em>knew</em> it wasn’t going to work out.</p>
<p>It hurts.</p>
<p>The bell chimes and Tadashi rolls down his sleeves once again.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have to, but he does.</p>
<p>“Hi, Freckles,” he says. Tadashi doesn’t answer. “You don’t have to hide it anymore, you know? I’ve known it since day one.”</p>
<p>“Wha–”</p>
<p>Tadashi feels his whole world come crashing down, his whole body losing its heat and all of a sudden he feels like he’s going to pass out. The world has become hazy and it’s hard to see. Maybe it’s because of the tears or maybe because he hasn’t eaten anything but the cookies the whole day. Or maybe he’s really going to die. At this point, he doesn’t even care. The floor could open and swallow him whole and he wouldn’t even feel it.</p>
<p>“It glowed through the cloth,” he goes on. “I thought it was, uh? Cute? The way you were trying so hard to hide it. And for a while I wondered if there was someone else here, if it wasn’t for me it was glowing for. When I found that girl hidden between the stacks I thought maybe it was for her, but it still glowed when we were alone.”</p>
<p>“What’s your point?” Tadashi manages to choke out. “I get it. Mine’s glowing for you, yeah. You’re my soulmate. Yours isn’t glowing, I’m not yours. It’s fine. It happens.”</p>
<p>Kei snorts, shaking his head. “Do you always jump to conclusions like that?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“That first night, after I saw you hurriedly rolling down your sleeves again, as soon as I stepped outside and was out of your sight, I checked mine,” Kei smirks. Tadashi swears his heart is about to stop. “It was glowing faintly, but it was glowing. Did people ever tell you your pattern looked like a banana? I got that a lot as a kid, especially from my brother.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you say anything,” he whispers, lowering his head to look at the faint glow coming from beneath his sleeves. It <em>did</em> glow through, he noticed. He was dumb for not noticing earlier.</p>
<p>Kei doesn’t seem to hear him, because he goes on. “I had to work overtime last week because of this huge exhibition we’re working on and I couldn’t come. That and, well, I had to finish my thesis. All of that is over now, though. I thought I’d come around to talk to you about it, finally.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks again, this time louder. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt? Thinking that, soulmates or not, I’d have to watch you going away and eventually finding the one person in the world who would’ve made you glow for them? And you could be lying, for all I know!”</p>
<p>Kei chuckles, nodding. “I could, yeah,” he shrugs. “But I have no reason to. Why would I?”</p>
<p>“How would I know?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes off his overcoat, folding it neatly and placing it on top of the counter. Then, he starts to take off his tie and Tadashi is sure his heart stopped for a few seconds. His lungs are short on oxygen and he’s about to pass out because all of a sudden Kei is <em>stripping</em> in the middle of the bookshop and no one ever taught him what to do in this kind of situation. He thinks he might get a nosebleed when he throws the tie on top of the overcoat and undoes the first three buttons of his shirt.</p>
<p>“There,” he says. “Happy now?”</p>
<p>Tadashi wants to scream that <em>Yes! Very!</em> because he got to see <em>that</em>, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because the words don’t come out, because he can see something glowing on his skin, right on his chest and <em>of course</em> he wouldn’t have seen that glowing. <em>This is a flawed system</em>, he remembers. Well, he thinks, it’s definitely a <em>shit</em> system. It’s ridiculous, even.</p>
<p>“Did you strip in the middle of the street?” is the first thing he says to him. Kei looks at him dumbfounded, eyebrows arched and eyes wide, as if he doesn’t believe that’s Tadashi’s answer. “Like, you saw mine glowing. And the first thing you did was strip in the middle of the cold street <em>just</em> to see if we matched?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I suppose it does sound weird,” he chuckles. “I could’ve gotten arrested for indecent exposure. That was stupid.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t have gotten arrested,” Tadashi giggles. “Unless you took off your pants as well. But you could’ve gotten sick. And besides! You said you didn’t care about this kind of thing the other day. I don’t think someone who doesn’t care would be stripping in the middle of the street just to see if he found his soulmate. Are you actually stupid?”</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“I mean! Wait,” he sighs. “Sorry, I think my serotonin receptors are getting kind of overwhelmed right now.”</p>
<p>Kei shakes his head, buttoning up his shirt again. He doesn’t reach for his tie, though. He doesn’t put on his overcoat either. Instead, he rests his elbows on the counter and crouches down so he can stare at Tadashi’s eyes. If it was hard to breathe before, it’s become a lot harder now that he’s up close. His eyes are the most beautiful thing Tadashi’s ever seen, even behind the glasses. His skin is smooth and his hair seems soft. He almost reaches up to touch it. He doesn’t, though.</p>
<p>“Are you even breathing?” he teases. Tadashi sighs.</p>
<p>“I think I might’ve forgotten how to,” he giggles.</p>
<p>“Hi, I’m Tsukishima Kei, your soulmate,” he says, a soft smile on his face. “I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you somehow. How does dinner sound? Have you eaten yet?”</p>
<p>Tadashi opens his mouth and closes it again, squinting at him.</p>
<p>“You’ll treat me?”</p>
<p>“That’s my intention,” Kei replies.</p>
<p>“I want ramen, then,” he says, simply. Kei snorts, shaking his head. “You <em>said</em> you’d treat me. And I think I deserve it after the pain I had to go through, you know? Do you even know how <em>horrible</em> it feels like? It <em>burns</em>, you know? It’s the worst thing that has ever happened to me and you’ll have to buy me lots of ramen to make up for it, Mr. Museologist.”</p>
<p>“So I’m Mr. Museologist and you’re Freckles,” he chuckles. “Sounds good enough.”</p>
<p>Tadashi blushes, looking down again.</p>
<p>“Hey, Tadashi?”</p>
<p>He pretends his heart didn’t just do a flip inside his chest and that his lungs didn’t refuse the oxygen they were receiving. He pretends his stomach didn’t coil, dancing around with the butterflies inside of him. He pretends none of that happened, gulping before looking up at him again.</p>
<p>And he’s <em>close</em>. <em>Too close</em>.</p>
<p>His lips are soft.</p>
<p>He tastes like mint.</p>
<p>He smells like old books and cinnamon.</p>
<p>Tadashi finds out he likes the odd mix. Maybe he should buy cinnamon incense for the bookshop. Or maybe he should start baking cinnamon cookies instead of almond cookies. Maybe he’ll ask the old lady how to bake cinnamon cookies. Or maybe he could just stay here forever, in this specific moment, feeling <em>this</em> for the rest of his life.</p>
<p>His stomach growls and they break off laughing.</p>
<p>“How romantic,” Kei teases him.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” he blushes.</p>
<p>“Come on,” he says, picking up his tie and overcoat. “Let’s go get ourselves some ramen.”</p>
<p>Tadashi nods, getting up from the stool behind the counter.</p>
<p>He makes sure to clean the plate and the mug, leaving both to dry on top of the sink at the back of the bookshop. Then, he closes the windows and turns off the lights, walking slowly through the shop in a useless attempt to make his heart stop beating this fast. <em>He was glowing for me</em>, he thinks to himself. <em>He’s mine and I’m his. There won’t be no hole in me anymore. It’s all good. We found each other.</em></p>
<p>The cold air sweeps him off his feet as soon as he opens the front door, bell chiming loudly. He shivers as he closes it, locking it right away. It’s too cold out to go out to eat, he thinks, but he can see Kei’s pattern glowing for him under his shirt and he looks down to his wrist, glowing proudly in response.</p>
<p>It’s too cold out to do anything, he thinks. But when Kei holds out his hand for him, Tadashi can’t help but giggle before taking it in his, holding it tightly and scurrying closer to him. They had the same weird shape – and while Kei said it looked like a banana, Tadashi liked to think it kind of looked like a book – and they were glowing faintly under their clothes.</p>
<p><em>Finally</em>, he thinks, <em>they’re glowing as they’re supposed to</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>